Monday, May 07, 2007

Tips for Budding Romeos

As Pickle Weasel has astutely pointed out, I happen to be irresistible to womens. Frankly, I’m not sure why this is, but it may be a combination of my rugged physique, chiseled features, and the fact I’m a celebrated fighter pilot.

Because of my extensive experience in the world of females and due to the fact I was ridiculously successful in these endeavors, I have generously decided to share my wealth of knowledge with all the would-be Romeos who patronize this Blog.

STAGE ONE: The Planning

It is important to plan your efforts carefully, unless you are an expert at winging it in the presence of beautiful babes. I happen to be adept and can therefore afford to freestyle. In the early stages of your training, however, having a plan can save you valuable time and Humiliation Points. You’ll want to hoard up as many HPs as possible for use in the first five years of marriage.

Stage One actually has two sub-stages. The first of these is The Outfit™. Many guys assume they can simply toss on some old duds and swagger down to the local meet-n-greet. No. You must prepare carefully. Your underwear is very important, for example. Droopy long-johns are not acceptable. In fact, long-johns are not acceptable, period. My advice is to go out and purchase a brand new pack of briefs just for the occasion. They should be solids (black is preferred among the vast majority of women) and should fit snugly, just in case.

Don’t assume by the above advice I am assuming you will make such a positive impression on first meeting that the lady in question will request to inspect your undergarments, but it’s important to increase your own self-confidence in any way possible. Besides, there is always the possibility something untoward will occur that will force you to exhibit said garments against your will.

For example, let’s say you are leaning on the bar, awaiting your order of sarsaparilla, when a stunning example of feminine wiles flows into the room on a breath of heady, but tastefully applied, perfume. Every man in the place, including you, will immediately suck in his stomach and expand his chest. The sudden decrease in waist size could, shall we say, lead to a massive expenditure of Humiliation Points. If you’re also wearing a lousy pair of skivvies, you may as well go home right away.

The rest of The Outfit™ is not as important as the previous, but it has its place. You should plan according to the establishment. For example, you never want to wear a tuxedo to Bingo Night, but they are entirely appropriate for most other occasions, including mini-golf and horseshoe tournaments.

The second sub-stage is too advanced for now. We'll come back to it at a later date.

STAGE TWO: The Arrival

This is a tricky routine to get down, but once it is mastered, can spell success in even the toughest crowds. You want to arrive in style, but not so grandly it is assumed you are unapproachable. You want to make a statement, but not too loudly.

Limousines are definitely out. They say, “Admire me, ladies, but stay back. I’ve got a harem waiting at my suite.” You don’t want that. No, you don’t. Personally, I feel a carefully timed arrival via unicycle is a good way to go. Just be sure to knot up the tail of your tuxedo prior to the trip, in order to avoid getting it caught in the spokes. Nothing’s uncooler (except saying “uncooler”) than arriving at your destination wearing a raggedy tuxedo. Bad form, mate.

Upon arrival, bring your unicycle to a screeching halt in front of the establishment and pay the nearest homeless person a quarter to park it. They will steal it, but that is a small price to pay for this incredible image you are creating.

Next, wait at the front door for someone to notice The Outfit™, recognize your superiority, and open the door for you. If this doesn’t happen within ten minutes, unknot the tail of your tuxedo.

Once inside, take your time before getting a seat or standing in line for a sandwich. See, most people get uncomfortable when walking into a new place. They think everyone is looking at them and want to immediately blend in. No, you must stand out. To do this, simply stand in the doorway for a minute or two and gaze around the room indifferently. Once everyone has shaken their head and looked away, go ahead and sit down.


It’s important not to appear “on the hunt.” So taking a shotgun with you is really frowned upon. Unless you live in Texas, in which case, go ahead. You don’t want to appear backward. After considerable practice, you will begin to master the art of being casual, while still exuding a smoldering sexuality no woman can resist. And, no, setting your hair on fire will not help. Tried that. Ouch. Stupid woman beat my head with a Pomeranian.

Anyway, enough of these sordid memories.

Sit around the bar/coffeehouse/restaurant/wherever the hell you are, until a specimen catches your eye. Then grab her by the hair and drag her back to your cave, where you shall ply her with raisin bran until she agrees to give you want you want. Yes! A foot massage!

No, wait, that’s my tip for the Truly Desperate. You should not do that. At least, not right away. First, you should make eye contact. She’ll probably glance away immediately, as people are apt to do when actually looking a stranger in the eye, but don’t do the same. Keeping looking, not staring. If she looks up again, you’ve got her.


After a couple more glances, try smiling. Not a large, toothy grin, but a “Hi, my name’s Balderdash. Can I sit there?” smile. If she smiles back, even a little, rise from your chair and walk over. She will probably throw scalding coffee on…you, but she’s merely being coy. Ignore this behavior and sit down quickly.

You should engage in small talk. Be interested in her and don’t talk about yourself within the first fifteen minutes. Unless she brings it up. In which case, lie like crazy.

Once you have dazzled her with your exploits (none of which should include other women, by the way), tell her you’ve enjoyed the evening, but that you have an early appointment at Carnegie Hall and really must go. Ask for her phone number.

Call her within two days, if you want. Otherwise, cut up the number with a pair of dull shears, because now, you can have all the women you want. You’re welcome.


Jacob Nordby said...


If I got any more complimentary of your manliness, of your ripping humorousness or of your pheromones they'd definitely be recommending that I buy a ticket on the Fabulous Rainbow Bus--not that there's anything wrong with that, Foo.

Anyways, I loved this piece. Especially I liked the snarky little stab "...don't assume by the above advice that I am assuming you will make such a positive impression on the first meeting that the lady in question will request to inspect your undergarments..."

Hmmfff. You ain't the only one what excretes man-fumes. My wife claims that I am very fumely after a Taco Bell run.


Anonymous said...

This has to be the funniest post ever. I love it. I almost snorted my string cheese up my nose trying to read this here stuff.
I especially like to part about getting a new pack of undies.

Jack W. Regan said...

Peeze Whiz: Shun the frumious Rainbow Bus! (Doesn't make any sense, I know. I just wanted to say "frumious."

Anyway, 'preciate yer comments. And, yes, Taco Bell fumes are definitely manly. Another tip to consider is rubbing a taco supreme on your buttocks before every date. Now that's attractive. Or so I hear.

Jack W. Regan said...

Wifey: You should certainly appreciate this post, since you have been the recipient of many of my patented techniques. hehehe.

Anonymous said...

Yes, I am definitely a lucky girl. I remember our first date on your luxurious unicycle. Those were the days. We actually loved each other back then.

Anonymous said...

Being a lurker and all, I tend to stray away from the commenting on one such marvelous blog as this. But seriously, I could hardly get past the first paragraph for I was laughing like a Tickle Me Elmo on giggle-crazy-steroids. Thank you stupid blogger's wifey for directing me to this. You are one lucky, lucky girl!

Jack W. Regan said...

She knows she is lucky. I tell her every day.

Jacob Nordby said...


I have stumbled and am falling through the Circles of Hell!

I have a great deal of admiration for Stupit, but...for goodness sakes...his PATENTED techniques??

I'll be a chipmunk's testicles!

Jack W. Regan said...

And so you are.

Jacob Nordby said...

that's what SHE said.

wait. that wasn't much of a zingy comeback.


by the way, Craig, thanks for taking a nice crack at ?? for me on ex-bmc :)

Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

It's like ChuckleTown up in here.

I thought I would mention that having snazzy undapants is a good conversation-starter. You just sidle up to the woman in your crosshairs and casually mention that, while most men "don't get it," you do, and you're wearing name-brand, black silk boxer shorts to prove it.

Stand back, smile hugely, and point at your crotch. Be sure to point with the hand NOT holding your drink.

Jack W. Regan said...

You're welcome, Pick. Mr./Mrs. ?? had it coming. Now all that's left is find out their identity and feed them to the lemurs.

Foo: If I had been a pioneer, that's what I would have named the town I'd found: ChuckleTown. "Bring yore wives 'n' chilluns to ChuckleTown. We is gleeful."

Jacob Nordby said...


This gets funnier and funnier.

I believe lemurs to be a peaceful people--except when offered Unitarians or BMC ??'s. Then they are savages.

Chuckletown sounds lovely. I may go drink myself into the delusion that I am there now.


Anonymous said...

Lessee... Wasn't Raggedy Tuxedo a famous Saturday-morning cartoon character? and wasn't his sidekick named Crumbly? Something like that. I think they lived in ChuckleTown, come to think of it..

Not too many people know this, but Foo was born in Australopathetic Hospital in ChuckleTown. After he was born, they changed their name. Not sure why..

Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

Who's this "sortress of coolness?" person? They spell and punctuate properly. That can't be anyone I work with.

Jack W. Regan said...

Surprisingly enough, it's that goofy Tiffany person. Oh, hi, there Tif. Heh. Didn't see you standing there. My bad.

anyjazz said...

Now, let me get this straight: I should wear pants under my pants?