I mean they can’t cook anymore. Used to be they at least cooked for you. You brought home the bacon. And they made you something with bacon in it. God damn it I love bacon. Give me another shot of whiskey. Fuck you, yes I am drunk. See this, bitch, it’s a bus pass. Sorry, I don’t really think you’re a bitch. I only call men bitches, by the way, to your face. I would never call a woman a bitch to her face. Like that fucking girlfriend I don’t have. Thanks, yes, my tab. That credit card got paid off this morning, bitch. Just kidding.

Hey. Do you have a girlfriend? Cause I don’t. I cook my own foods and I wash my own clothes. Clotheses. Clothings. I wash my own clothings. I’m going to work all day and come home and there she is on her cell phone and I’m all like what’s for dinner and she’s all like excuse me this is the new millennium not 1953, Leave to Beaver’s dad. And I’d try to be funny, right? I mean for fuck’s sake, women. One of ‘em goes and pisses God off and eats that apple I mean the other way around but whatever and wait a second. Aggh, God that burns. What? Yeah, pisses God off and he punishes her by giving her pain in childbirth which means she’s gotta bleed outta her cooch once a month and what’s Adam’s punishment? He has to put up with her bleeding out her cooch once a month.

Labor in the fields? Uh, I work in a hospital, pal. Yeah, whatever.

What was I saying. Right, bleeding out her cooch once a month. Evidence of menstruation all over the apartment. Boxes of tampons and maxi pads and that paper liner just left there on the floor when she slapped on a fresh one before work, all her god damned sex in the city DVDs on the coffee table because she’s been trying to decide which is her favorite episode again. Boxes of chocolate and US Weekly and wet underwear hanging in the shower.

So I figure I’ll make a joke since she’s on the rag or whatever and stick it to God a little and I say, hey, speaking of Beaver, and I got to grab her by the boobs and she’s all like, Please, with that look on her face and hey, do you have a girlfriend? Does she give you that look? Is there any way in hell a man can stay hard when his girlfriend gives him that look? I need another beer. Yeah, the same.

Dump that bitch, that’s what I say. Nookie once every three weeks is not worth heating up some soggy shit in the microwave and sitting by myself on the internet while she watches Sex in the City. I mean I would take nookie once every few weeks over no nookie never, but no fuck you, I mean thank you, I don’t need someone forcing apples on me.

Yeah that was dumb. How drunk is I’m being if I can tell still when I say some stupid shit? Because women, right? Maybe she’s good in the sack and cooks pork chops and shit but that doesn’t mean she won’t kill your dreams. Like, a dream, like. Like a dream, is like, the only thing you have sometimes. Look, I know I’m not going to play left guard for the New York Damn Jets. Fine, fuck you then, the Atlanta Falcons. Who cares, that’s not the point asshole, the point is, God this beer tastes like shit. It’s warm. Who? I am not talking too much.

I know I’m not going to play left tackle anywhere in the NFL. I know I’m not going to fucking space. Space, astronauts and shit. Not me. Look at me. So a dream is something you have that helps you deal with that kind of shit. I mean no offence, what you do is noble, but tell me honestly, when you were thirteen, the first time you whacked off, did you think, I’m going to grow up to be a bartender? Fine, cut me off, but you have to let me finish this one, don’t you.

But a woman, she’ll stomp on your dick and then get mad if you cum on her shoes. I should write that shirt down. Like, what if my dream was to open a bakery? And I’m all like, someday, baby, I’m going to open a bakery. Why not a bakery? Why the fuck not a bakery? People eat donuts and shit. And I tell her this, right, like, right after I screwed her brains out. She comes home from the gym and she’s all sweaty and tight and I can’t help myself so I tell her not to take a shower yet and she’s all like Gross but she’s into it I’m going to wash the sheets anyway because it’s my turn to wash the sheets cause I do my part around the goddamned apartment.

There we are all naked and satisfied, I did my part, she can go take a shower, I’ll cut the vegetables, she fries the pork chops, we’re a god damned team. But in the glow, I’m all like someday you know what I’m going to do open a bakery, and call it What The Flan, cause that’s WTF. That shit’s genius. That shits the kind of thing that makes the difference between guys like me and men who get called bitches.

And she’s going to, what, tell me I can’t? She’s going to stomp all over my dreams? She’s going to come home from the gym sweaty and smelling like some body builder’s armpit and only let me have a quickie and that’s the first time we screwed for two whole fucking months and then try to tell me her god damn associates degree and her job as a bank fucking teller means she’s smart enough to say a bakery called What The Flan is never going to happen? She’s going to stomp on my dick and call it the stupidest idea ever and some something shitty about how they don’t even sell flan in bakeries and what the fuck flan is anyways? Bitch if you don’t know what flan is, how do you know they don’t sell it in bakeries?

No, no thank you sir, no thank you Jesus, I do not need that in my life. I don’t not need nor want a girlfriend. Yeah, close me out. I need a woman like I need an extra hole in my ass. I got plenty of holes, thanks. Jesus Christ, how many shots did I have? Here, sorry, I’ll put an extra 10 percent on for calling you bitch. You know I was joking right. Cool.

Okay. See ya next Saturday. Who’s Andy? Well then I’ll see Andy next Saturday.