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During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost town, as
everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the heat.
Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in the city,
beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made sense of a sort, after
all, you don’t even need to get inside the house to steal one. Many a
homeowner returned from work in the evening to find a large hole in the
wall where the family’s most cherished appliance once rested and
subsequently broke down in tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden
brainstorm that guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime
wave. He promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to
inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias or slipped
discs. When the anxious media questoned the chief of police on this new
tactic, he simply replied that the results so far were “interesting”.

In other news, weather forcaster Bob Katt had been suspended for
appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and nothing else. It
seems the building’s air-conditioning system had been stolen the previous
night (an impressive feat in itself, considering that the compressor alone
weighed half a ton) and Bob had refused to work in a suit in the stifling
heat. So he had walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and
up in front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could even
think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very bad form to yank
him off the camera, so they simply let him do his broadcast. Once he was
finished he was greeted by a purple faced station manager. Despite the
indian pressure groups, Bob was still very popular in Willyville, so he was
not fired on the spot.

Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue vacation…

Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise, surprise!). Harold
was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn’t slept at all the previous
night. His stomach was a tight little knot and his heart would not stop
pounding. He was having second thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had
never been a party animal, and recent… events… had convinced him that
he would be very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race
(read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he thought about
it, he was rather frightened of them. After all, if he couldn’t keep Cindi
happy, would he be able to keep any woman happy? And there would be lots of
girls there, probably all laughing at him. Why go?

Then he thought about his depression of the last couple weeks. Tom had
a point: right or wrong, he had to do something.

Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove over to
Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold had lapsed into a
moody silence, soaking up Tom’s words and saying almost something in
return. If Tom noticed, he didn’t show it as he kept up a steady monologue
all the way to the house.

The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story affair
sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland. The place was run
by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wilburn, who believed in free
expression of everything and threw wild parties as often as the house’s
budget would allow. Some of the parties were solely for the house’s
inhabitants, but most of them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and
most kinds of drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard
rumors even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty
intimidating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of Tom’s
car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding house looming over
him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding it, he knew he had made a
mistake. He as much as said so to Tom, who ignored him completely.

The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when Tom led him
around the back of the house. There must have been almost a hundred people
there, engaged in all manner of outdoor activities. People everywhere,
talking, yelling, running, horsing around, just generally having a good
time. A table had been set up by the back door, and there was somebody
serving booze and food to an endlessly regenerating queue.

Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him and was
nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and yelled for Tom,
then his rational mind took over. What’s your problem? it said. You’re an
adult, you don’t need a keeper.

So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see.

In one corner a net had been set up for a vollyball game. There was a
team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering group of people could
be called a team. Harold stood off to one side with a small group of
spectators and watched. All of a sudden his attention had been captured by
one particular member of one team.

She wasn’t tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a few pounds
overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned, made her all the more
nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and fell down past her shoulders. Her
face was pretty, but not spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold’s
attention was what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She
was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had split along
the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini top that struggled
valiantly to hold up under the weight of enormous breasts. Harold glanced
around and saw that she had the attention of pretty much every man in the
crowd.

His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn’t help but
wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He imagined her long hair
spread out over the pillow, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, those
magnificent breasts moving in slow liquid motion as she arched her back in
sheer pleasure, her frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful
orgasm…

Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told himself. Someone
like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and even if she didn’t, why
should she be interested in somebody like him? He turned around and began
to make his way back towards the house.

Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again. She was
sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen. When she landed, the
overburdened top string of her bikini had given way, exposing her for all
the world to see.

He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard, the aurioles
colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in his mouth, to feel their
soft but firm weight in his hands. Then he looked up and saw she was
staring directly at him.

He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet red. Why, he
didn’t know, because surely every other male here was staring and thinking
the same thoughts. She made no move to cover herself, she just sat there,
challenging him with her gaze.

Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd. His heart
was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their release, ached
miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept his hands in his pockets
to conceal it. He felt sick, and ashamed. And he wanted to leave this
instant.

But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he felt there
was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he didn’t know, but he
somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark had passed between them.
Undoubtedly it was just his overworked imagination, but…

He felt as if she wanted him, too.

Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willyville began
to cool off. People moved out of their stifling houses (except for those
who hadn’t had their air-conditioning stolen yet) and into their back
yards. They brought TV trays, TV’s, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally
prepared to enjoy the night in relative coolness.

All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of voices,
televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises of humans enjoying
themselves outdoors. With one exception. In Squirrel Heights, all was
quiet. The place seemed deserted, in fact. Virtually all human life in the
area had gravitated to one spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house,
when night fell, the real party began…

Harold Sykes hadn’t left the party like he planned, although he came
awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the crowd. But, in
the end, the thought of going back to his lonely, empty, stuffy house was
just too much. So instead he wandered around the yard, just watching the
extraordinary panorama of human activity taking place before him.

Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where he just
sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him how he was doing.

“Better.” sighed Harold, “I really feel better.”

Tom gave him a wink. “You may be feeling better than that before the
night’s over, old buddy.” and sauntered off before Harold could say
anything.

Now what was that supposed to mean?

As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left, spinning
their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just went inside the
house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold thought, Although it looked
to him like they had been boozing more than adequetely already. Harold
didn’t feel like drinking very much, especially after his binge the other
day. Drugs didn’t hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting
there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him.

Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to find he was
alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the back door.

The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of voices and
music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out dim light from around
a corner in the distance. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway,
hoping nothing solid was in the way of his shins.

Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned the corner
he recieved the shock of his life.

The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light was more
than adequete for Harold to see what was going on. There was about twenty
to thirty people sprawled about the room, all naked, contorted in every
kind of sexual position imaginable. And a couple that weren’t imaginable.

Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost amongst the
moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on the couch, in some
bizarre group contortion that made them look like something from another
planet. One man sat moaning softly in an easy chair with a hard-on that
Harold would have sworn was twelve inches long, at least. He watched in
total amazement as all twelve inches dissappeared into the mouth of the
co-ed sitting on the floor between the man’s feet.

The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent.

He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the rafters, some
twelve feet above, a rope and pully setup had been arranged with a large
wicker basket. Three people were in the basket, which swung back and forth
alarmingly. Harold quickly moved several feet over, out from under the
setup.

His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always been
limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy. It was too
much. He didn’t want any part of this. All he wanted was out.
Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest door. He
was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he didn’t want to
see.

There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two people
were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting astride his hips,
moving up and down in sensuous rhythem. He didn’t know who the guy was but
he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain that had been mercifully submerged now rose
to stab arrowlike into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and
their eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and unpleasant
glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she turned her attention
back to what she was doing. Her movements became more frantic, and her
moans much louder, exaggerating as much as possible.

Her parting words rang in his mind: “I want a man, dammit!” Well,
fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and ran blindly
towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one couple on the way (startling
them into a premature orgasm) and mumbled apologies as he kept going.

Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from. Doors
lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it open, only to be
rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced and near tears from
embarassment, he pulled the door shut and looked around desperately. And
empty room, anything, just so he could get out of sight and get his
thoughts together. If he didn’t do it quick, he feared he might lost his
mind. He had to get away, somehow!

There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark within. He
paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect no movement within.
Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut behind him and let the blackness
envelop him as he sank to the floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for
who knew how long before he finally calmed down.

His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the total
darkness, that that the room wasn’t empty after all. After a long moment,
he finally summoned up a weak voice. “Who’s there?”

There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he was alone
after all, when a soft voice answered “Are you all right?”

Fuck NO! I ain’t all right, you stupid… But Harold controlled
himself before replying, “I will be, eventually. In about fifty years or
so.” He hesitated before the next question, “Are you, um, alone?”

“Yeah.” she replied, “I just wanted to be by myself. I kinda outgrew
the scene out front a long time ago. All the interesting guys already have
somebody. There was one guy, but I think he went home or something.”

Harold got up, a little unsteadily “I’m sorry. Sorry I barged in on
you. I’ll leave now.”

“Please, don’t.” she said, “Unless you really need to. I think we
could both use someone to talk to.”

Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh. “Sure, why
not?” After a silent moment, he continued, “Would you mind turning on a
light? I’d like to see who I’m talking to.”

“Well,” she began doubtfully, “you may feel more comfortable without
the light, but if you insist…” There was a click and a flare of light
exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could open his
eyes, he recieved the last shock of a very long day.

Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the vollyball
game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the bikini top, which
lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes screwed shut against the light,
opening them a moment later.

“Oh! It’s you!”

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The stereo ground out an old Beatle’s tune, slowing now and then with the
power failures typical of poorly wired urban apartment buildings. It may have
been two high school girls dressing for their first dates, judging from the
excitement and expectations, matching lipstick and nail polish, changing
stockings and shoes.

“It all went well last night then?” asked Sandy, stroking the hair brush
through her long, thick locks.

“Perfect. Just perfect! In fact,” confessed Chris poking an earring
through her pierced ear, “he was a real doll. Very mature and dignified and he
didn’t even try to kiss me! God, maybe I have bad breath or something,” she
chuckled, never loosing sight of her profile in the dressing mirror.

“That could almost get to be a drag,” mused Sandy, with raised eyebrows.
“That has never happened to me, so I wouldn’t know. ”

Chris snapped the earring shut. “Tell me about it, Sandy.” she said
light-heartedly, but with a sting of sarcasm.

“Come on. I can’t help it if I like to make love. It’s the neatest
thing in the world. Can you think of anything that feels any better?”

Chris laughed. “Its been so long I couldn’t say…”

Sandy turned from her girlfriend and searched through her big leather bag
until she found the foil-wrapped packet she had stashed there for emergencies.
Actually, it was Roger’s idea, but she had to agree it was a good one. “Chris,
come on, this will get you in a party mood.”

Chris looked up, saw that Sandy was holding a lighted cigarette in her
hand. She held the lighted stick of marijuana in offering and Chris accepted
it, though reluctantly. Too many times she’d let herself loose control while
stoned; it was a vice she had grown wary of.

“I’m no sure…”

“Don’t be such a prude!” chided Sandy, taking a deep puff herself. “Here,
smoke a little. C’mon.” She held the hand-rolled cigarette to Chris’s lips;
first the blonde turned away, but then when it was obvious that Sandy would
persist, she reluctantly took one tiny puff. A tingle of warmth followed the
sweet-smelling smoke down her throat and along the nerve channels of her body;
just the one puff was enough to bring a wave of relaxation to her excited body.
She felt her mind loosen as if obeying some secret command; another, deeper
drag followed, then still another…

Soon, in minutes, or in hours, they had finished the joint and Sandy had
produced another from her tin foil packet. Chris didn’t hesitate this time;
the nerve-soothing drug seemed to answer a deep inner need, and the inbred
instinct to resist it had been destroyed.

“There, you feel more like partyin’ now without getting goose bumps?”
Sandy asked her shy friend.

Chris nodded. “Yes, thanks. I feel a lot… a lot better now.” Her
words were beginning to blur together, and she hesitated at places that needed
no pause.

“Now about tonight. We’re getting paid one hundred dollars each since
this is a private party that Roger is giving for some business friends. Is
that cool with you?” asked the brunette watching her friends eyes sparkle with
dollar signs.

“That sounds okay to me!” burst Sandy, stepping into her platform shoes.
She always waited ’til the last minute to put them on out of consideration for
the neighbors below who had to listen to the heavy clump, clump of her wooden
heels. Bending over to secure the straps and buckle the tiny metal fastener at
her slim ankle, Chris lost her balance and fell on her buttocks, with a groan.

Sandy looked down at her stoned friend. “For god’s sakes, Chris, get
your act together. We’re supposed to be calm and sophisticated debutantes,
remember? Not a couple of burned out hippies.”

“All right, all right,” snapped Chris defensively before bursting into
giggles.

Sandy headed toward the living room and called over her shoulder to
Chris, still in her bedroom. “Why don’t you make yourself a cup of coffee! I’m
going down to see if everything is cool with Roger.” The door slammed behind
her and Chris, kicking off her uncomfortable shoes, padded in her level bare
feet to the kitchen.

“Roger!” Sandy knocked on the door and was greeted on the second knock,
but she didn’t step in; there wasn’t time.

“Howdy, Sandy. Everything set?”

“Just like you said. A few pulls on the grass and she’s ready for
anything. Grass does that to her.” Sandy leaned against the door jam and
stared at a scrawled note that lay on the doormat. Stooping over, she picked
it up and handed it to Roger. “Looks like this is for you. Must have blown off
the door.”

“Thanks,” said the landlord, scanning the pencil-written note. His eyes
narrowed disconcertedly, a gesture Sandy did not fail to notice.

“What’s the matter? Somebody’s tub overflow?” she giggled.

“Naw. It’s from Margaret… she lives upstairs from me. Christ, I wish
she would stop nagging me. Goddamn women, can’t leave me alone,” he chuckled
egocentrically. “Ah,” he sneered. “She’s just a dumb immigrant from the old
country,” he said, mimicking Margaret’s Swedish accent.

“Anyway, I came down to see if everything’s okay. I’m sure I can handle
those friends of yours, but I’m not too sure about Chris. She’s pretty shy,
you know.”

“Just keep gettin’ her loaded. She’ll be okay.”

He kissed her on the forehead and she sauntered down the musty smelling
hallway, passing by door after door, hearing muffled sounds of the evening
news, mixed with low conversation and the heady smell of dinner wafting out
from under closed doors. Sandy had one hand on the railing when something
behind her made her jump.

Appearing from nowhere — she had to be hiding in the hall to go
unnoticed — Sandy spied a blonde haired woman, mature and buxom in her tight
fitting cotton dress. Smiling, Sandy turned to greet her, to say hello, but
the woman stiffened and brushed on by, her mouth turned down in a hateful
grimace at the sight of the young black haired girl who’d replaced her in
Roger’s life.

Margaret’s low-heeled shoes pounded rhythmically on the threadbare
carpeting of the steps, then silenced as she reached the hallway above and
charged for the quiet of her modest apartment. The tears she’s struggled to
hold within burst free and she collapsed on her bed.

She’d heard it all. So that’s what Roger thought of her? A stupid Swede
from the old country. Margaret took one loving glance at Sandor’s photograph
and plotted her revenge. And, she the goods on him, she mused with a sudden
taste for retaliation. In the last three days that she’d been following him,
she learned enough about him to make a complaint to somebody. Who, she wasn’t
certain of, but there had to be laws against pandering women and reading other
people’s mail as she’d seen him do through the window of his living room where
she’d stood on the fire escape.

REASONS WHY GUITARS ARE BETTER THAN WOMEN

(please note, I have eliminated the obvious copies like, “you can have a
guitar all month long”, and “a guitar doesn’t care how many guitars you own”)

1. A guitar has a volume knob
2. If you break a guitar’s G-string, it only costs $0.79 for a new one
3. You can make a guitar scream as loud as you want it to
4. You can unplug a guitar
5. You can finger a guitar for hours without it complaining it wants more
6. Other people can play your guitar without it getting upset
7. You can finger a guitar in public and get applause, not arrested
8. You can have a guitar any color you want and noone will care
9. If your guitar gets loose, you can just tighten up the strings
10. If your guitar doesn’t make sounds you like, you can change pickups
11. You can use four fingers at a time on a guitar
12. If your guitar strings are too heavy, you can just get a lighter set
13. You can have a guitar professionally adjusted to *your* liking
14. If you scratch a guitar’s back, it’s unintentional, not required
15. You can go to a guitar shop and play all the guitars you want for free

Now, for the opposite:

REASONS WHY WOMEN ARE BETTER THAN GUITARS

1. Women are more fun when the power goes out
2. You can’t get your guitar wet
3. Ever try to screw a guitar?
4. The input to a guitar is only 1/4″ (ouch!)
5. A guitar won’t beg to be played
6. It’s no fun to tie your guitar to a bed and spray whipped cream on it
7. When playing a guitar, you can use your teeth, but not your tongue
8. Guitars aren’t very aggressive
9. A guitar won’t play you back
10. You need two hands to make a guitar scream
11. A guitar won’t scratch *your* back
12. A guitar won’t drive you home if you’re too drunk
13. A guitar doesn’t care who plays it
14. You can’t play two guitars at once
15. You can’t fall in love with a guitar (awwwwwww, gee, how sweet
(well, maybe you can, but they can’t love you back)

These are my own. I get sick of regurgitated ones. I hope you like them.

–

Suddenly and abruptly, I feel a hand being placed on my
shoulder and look up in surprise to see two handsome
men in jeans and tee-shirts standing there. One of them says
he didn’t mean to disturb me, but they knocked on the front
door and there was no answer, so they thought they might
as well try to look around in the back to see if anyone were home.

He explained that they were here to fix the filter in the pool
and that my husband had called them this morning from his
office. “Oh yes!”,I said, the filter is broken. Go ahead.”

From where the pool filter was located those two hunks had a
great view of me and feeling kind of horny, I thought I’d give
them a show. I undid the strap of my bikini top so that just a
little tit was showing and I pulled my bottoms tight up into my
crack. I knew they could see and that I was having an effect.

One of the guys, a blond who said his name was Pete, walked
over and asked to use the bathroom. “Right through the door and
to the left.” I said, sitting up a bit and letting my top fall
free exposing my large ripe breasts. The look on his face was
one of shock and embarrassment. “Oops!” I said, and winked at
him.

He just smiled and headed to the bathroom. While he was
gone I called the other guy over, Jeff was his name, a tall
muscular fellah with black hair. “Could you put some sun tan
lotion on my back” I asked as I rolled over onto my stomach.

“Sure!” he said. Slowly he massaged the oil all over my back and
legs. Then I turned over and asked him to do the front too, which
he did with a grin. His large firm hands began squeezing and
rubbing my tits. As he did that I reached up and unzipped his
pants revealing a thick hard ten inch cock! I sat up on the
lounge chair and slid his hot meat into my mouth. I sucked
slowly on the head of his fat dick, slipping it in and out
between my red succulent lips. By then his friend was back and
was already taking off his pants. I laid back on the lounge
chair and removed my bottoms. I spread my legs wide and the
blond guy took his big hard shaft and plunged it into my
dripping cunt.

The other guy stood over me and fucked my large aching tits
and mouth with his giant prick. The two of them pumped away
filling my mouth and pussy with their cocks. I wiggled and
moaned as they thrust in and out of me, ravishing my hot naked
body. My pussy clamped down tight on the thick tool between my
legs brought me orgasm after orgasm. I could feel the cock in
my mouth swell and I sucked faster until the guy shot a hot
creamy load of come down my throat. Then the guy fucking me blew
his wad deep in my cunt. I laid back, basted in their love
juices, and smiled.

After all of that exotic lovemaking, we all went for a cool
refreshing swim and did it again before my husband got home.

[I got this from _They Used to Call Me Snow White...But I Drifted_
by Regina Barreca. CTM]

This couple out on a date get a flat while driving along on a snowy
night. He goes out to change the tire, but doesn’t have any gloves
so before long he comes back in, job half-done, with blue hands. “Put
your hands between my legs to warm them up,” says she. So he does,
and goes back out to the flat tire. It’s so cold, he has to come back
in one more time to warm up his hands, again at her invitation,
between her legs. He finally finishes the job and comes back into the
car triumphant and puts the key into the ignition.

She looks at him and says, “Aren’t your ears cold?”

–

Reasons why
Beer is better than women

A frigid beer is a good beer.
After a beer, the bottle is still worth a nickle.
All you have to do to get head is undo the top and turn it upside down.
Beer always goes down. Easy.
Beer can is worth something after you’ve had it.
Beer doesn’t bother about foreplay.
Beer doesn’t care about your size.
Beer doesn’t care what position your in.
Beer doesn’t care when you come.
Beer doesn’t cry if you don’t talk to it for a week.
Beer doesn’t demand equality.
Beer doesn’t get jealous when you grab another beer.
Beer is always ready.
Beer is always wet.
Beer is never late.
Beer labels peel off without a fight.
Beer never has a headache.
Beer never talks back.
Beer stains wash out.
Beer will never have a another beer.
Beer will never leave you for a cucumber.
Beer won’t get pregnant.
Beer won’t get upset when you come home with beer on your breath.
Beer won’t mind if you fart after you’ve had it.
Beers don’t get PMS.
Beers don’t get fat.
Beers don’t get headaches.
Beers don’t have cellulite.
Beers don’t have periods.
Beers don’t have teeth.
Beers don’t leave wet patches in the bed.
Beers don’t mind if you don’t stay up all night.
Beers don’t nag.
Beers don’t want equal rights.
Beers don,t have mother-in-laws.
Beers improve with age.
Beers never leave pubes in your throat.
Hangovers go away.
Having a Beer won’t give you a sore back.
If you change beers, you dont have to pay alimony.
If you go to a bar you’ll definately be able to get a Beer.
If you pour a beer right, you’ll get good head.
When a beer goes flat, you toss it.
When you go to a bar, you know you can always pick up a beer.
When you open a beer you know your the first and only one to have it.
You can carry half-dozen Beers in one hand with little fuss.
You can enjoy a beer all month long.
You can have a Beer cold.
You can have a Beer in public.
You can have as many Beers as you want and they won’t get jealous.
You can have more than one beer a night and not feel guity about it.
You can piss and have a Beer at the same time.
You can share a beer with a friend and it doesn’t care.
You can’t catch syphillis from a Beer.
You don’t have to chat a Beer up before you have it.
You don’t have to wash a Beer before it tastes good.
You don’t have to wine and dine a beer.
You don’t need to dress up to pick up some beers.
You never find a med in your beer.
You never have to wait for a Beers nails to dry.
Your beer will always wait patiently for you, in the car, while you play a sport.

–

29 Reasons why
Beer is better than men

1a. Beer makes you feel better when you have your period.
2a. Beer stains don’t smell funny the next day.
3a. Beer goes where you want it to.
4a. Your beer will always wait patiently for you in the car while
you try on shoes at the mall.
5a. Your beer never suffers performance anxiety.
5b. When your beer won’t get a head up, you can toss it out.
6a. Beer doesn’t stand there tapping it wristwatch.
6b. No woman ever got stood up by a beer.
7a. A beer doesn’t start a fistfight with an ale.
8a. Puking will rid you of that queasy feeling you get when
you made the wrong choice.
8b. Beer doesn’t get drunk and call you at 3am to beg.
8c. You don’t need a restraining order with bad beer.
8d. I never met a beer with a criminal record.
9a. Beer labels come off when you want them to.
10a. When you go to a bar, you can pick up a beer without worrying
about that tan line on his ring finger.
10b. You can pick up a beer in a bar right in front of your mom
and she won’t mind.
11a. Beer never has a bad temper.
12a. A beer won’t throw you into the back seat of a 76′
Datsun and dry hump you under a mercury vapor lamp.
12b. A beer won’t toss you in the passenger seat of a
Mazda RX7 and show you it can go 100MPH on a flat stretch.
13a. A beer doesn’t bring strange people home with it.
14a. Its easy to give beer good head with minimal shaking up.
15a. You don’t have to worry about a gag reflex with beer.
16a. You can have more than one beer in a night without feeling sore.
17a. You can talk to your girlfriends about your beer without it getting
pissed off.
18. You have a good idea where that beer has been before you got it.
19a. No one ever had to sleep in a beer spot.
20a. Beer doesn’t dis’ you because you are a babe.
21a. A beer won’t shove its hand up your dress at your graduation
party.
22a. You don’t have to fake it for a beer. Beer has no ego.
23a. A cold beer is a good beer.
24a. Beer tastes good.
25a. Beer doesn’t leave you. It snuggles around your hips for
a lifetime.
26. A beer doesn’t hate your cat.
27. You can get six at once without taxing yourself.
28. A beer doesn’t mind if you don’t finish.
29. A beer won’t leave the lid up.

–

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