The MATRICULATED American woman

If you’re lucky, no, really, really lucky, then your girlfriend is a matriculated maiden. (A wife is referred to as a matriculated angel.) Now for an explanation for all you readers who are wandering around out there lost in a fog of the deepest ignorance…I’m not saying you’re stupid (the majority of the readers of the Post and Bugle are on the higher end of the smarts scale…without any attempt to be elitist, it takes a guy with all his lights on to understand satire.)

I’m just saying that you need help with your bearings and no one can help you more than a man who has…uhh, ‘romanced’ more women around the world than you’ve had wet dreams.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

The most valuable woman in the world is the one who understands the

‘testicular imperative’. That men are naturally little bumblebees who take every opportunity to stick their ‘business’ into every blossom they wing by. In fact, they stay on full alert for those full, sweet, rounded blossoms that seem to pull them in as they sway gently from side to side and give off their intoxicating aromas.

No self-respecting bumblebee could ever pass up such an opportunity to sample the delectable delights and sweet nectar of such visions of perfection.

It would take some kind of dysfunctional bumblebee to turn his nose up at all those heartbreaking blossoms out there who are just dying to get to ‘know’ him…in the biblical sense.

And that’s what we’re talking about here, the Bible (a book I adore).

In case I have to remind you, the Good Book tells us to go forth and multiply. Now how on God’s green earth can you possibly ‘multiply’ unless you sample the blossoms along the way.

The Matriculated Woman understands this. She understands the Testicular Imperative. She understands that the noble sampling of the intoxicating blossoms along the way…

has…

NOTHING…

to do with your love for her.

A deep-seated love. An enduring love. A love that’s in your heart…not below the belt line in your Mr. Bo Dangles. Just a reminder but Mr. Bo Dangles is the last guy you want in charge of affairs of the heart. He’s strictly a performance guy. Think of him as the big gun, you know a kind of Navarone type of guy. He fires his gun once it’s in position.

But it’s your job to get him into position. And of course the seduction part that comes with the attendant but necessary costs of flowers, dinners, hockey/football games etc. Look, you may be so stupid so as to not understand that both games are played by very masculine men that jolt the hell out of their pretty little Venus equipment.

DO I HAVE TO DO ALL THE THINKING FOR YOU???

A matriculated woman understands her man’s gun of Navarone. She’s been a fortunate recipient of his charms many times but she acknowledges that her man’s Navarone also must behave like the bumblebee.

Listen, did Mrs. Columbus set sail to explore the world? To discover America?

Did Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Clark set forth to explore and map the great interior of North America?

Did Mrs. Marco Polo set out to explore the vast reaches of the unknown world?

No, no and no. And an infinite number of no’s to an infinite number where it is the male of our species who is the explorer. The bumblebee doesn’t sit in the hive and wait for the sweet and tender blossoms to come by. NO. He goes out and finds those tempting little morsels to do his business with.

The Matriculated woman knows this. The Matriculated woman knows not to confine her ‘bumblebee’ to the dungeon of conventional physical monogamy.

The American male is stifled by American sexual morality. Think of his penis as getting a prison sentence for life. If the rest of him were going to prison for life there would be an outcry with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

What we say to men is that you are free to walk upon the land, go anywhere you want, do what you want but not your penis…it stays incarcerated and the dogs of Hell will pursue you to land’s end if you free him from prison where all proper thinking people think he should be kept for all the days of his life.

So there you have it, me hearties.

Choice one: Find or create your very own Matriculated woman.

Choice two: Obey American main stream morality and deny freedom to your Mr. Bo Dangles by keeping him under lock and key. May he rot in peace.

The Voyeurettes

We at the Post and Bugle has been dealing with an ongoing problem, no, an attack really, of females who can’t resist crashing our site to ‘see what you’re up to’.

Now look, all you females out there who surreptitiously barge into our site need to be reminded that…

THE POST AND BUGLE

is for the edification of men only. It is written expressly for men, not for women. Give us a little peace and quiet…PLEASE!!!

Women have their own venues from the hypnotizing tear-jerk, Dr. Phil, to the brains aren’t required show, The View. How many more giggly, dumb, wring your heart shows do women need. And while we’re at it, why aren’t they out there proving just how equal they are instead of sitting at home with their girlfriends bitching about their husbands/boyfriends. Disagree? OK. Then did you know that 70 % of women say they are unhappy in their marriage/relationship?

We realize that The Post and Bugle is fun and funny. We understand why you like it…however, BUTT OUT.

This is our tiny little space and we’d like a little time of our own!?!?

Why should we not be allowed to seek a little refuge in the storm?

So, you want some answers…to some girly questions?

Then watch Rayeen or Oprah or Maury or some other moronic show that caters to the economy end of the IQ scale…shows that actually demean women, not enhance them. Shows that make most men roll their eyes…when their wives are not looking…or make excuses and quietly exit.

Here’s a question Ladies. If your man is suddenly gone from some stupid TV show shouldn’t you be wondering WHY?

Shouldn’t you be putting on something that HE likes? Wearing something that he likes? Cooking something that he likes? (getting wild and crazy like he likes?)

ALL RIGHT…a confession.

My wife loves figure skating. I hate figure skating. But, and it’s a big BUT, I love my wife more than I hate figure-skating. Sooooo…I watch the damn figure skating.

At first I watched it, suffering in silence.

But that soon became insufficient for my wife. She wanted my active participation…define active as providing commentary, providing contrary opinions to the expert judges with whom my wife disagreed, usually Russian judges,…so I quickly became my wife’s surrogate leader of the honorable opposition to the judges’ collective decision…especially European judges.

I have to admit that I did learn a lot about figure skating judging. But I always damn well made sure they were totally in line with what I knew my wife was thinking.

My wife totally enjoyed these times ‘together’, so much so that that the post competition shenanigans were totally worth my whole sacrifice, hmmmm…I’ll say.

A note to the guys. ‘Are you paying attention?’

You can be so dumb I’m not always sure.

Let’s say that you want to take your beauty out on the town. You don’t ask her to choose the venue or restaurant. YOU choose the restaurant or club or whatever. Here’s how you do it.

Ask her to rate various kinds of restaurants. Let’s just say that she puts Italian

restaurants at the head of the list. Then ask her to grade various Italian eateries on a scale of 1 to 10. Then ask her why she likes one over the others.

She will often say it’s because of the soup, or the croutons in the soup…or it could be the sea salt or the ‘just-out-of-the-oven’ rolls…you’ll never know. And then on Saturday night you ‘surprise’ her with the restaurant that serves one of the above. Bingo! Your little charade has made her happy…your JOB, I remind you. By the way, she knows it’s a charade. She just likes the effort you put in to please her. Your reward comes later, in the ‘desert’ course…so to speak.

So, Ladies, please leave this humble little corner of the world wide web to us little munchkins who adore you more than you know.

Bon Appetit

New Word (expression): Mammary Fever

Just why are we so stupefied by women’s breasts?

Men in the developed world are rather hypnotized by women’s breasts. But as Julia Roberts, former movie actress/star, asked ‘What’s all the excitement about women’s breasts…they’re just breasts?”

Well, Miss Beautiful Julia, we don’t see you baring all in public, now do we? You see, Miss Julia, we are here, on this earth for one primary reason (after self-survival). And that reason is procreation. If no procreation then we die out as many species who have lost their procreative urge have done. And our species has a very strong will to survive which fuels a very strong sex drive.

From deep inside the primitive portion of the brain, where we get our sex drive from, lies a bundle of nerves that is responsible for feelings of thirst, hunger, anger, fear, self preservation and the cheap-shot thrill of watching Jerry Jones writhe in agony as the cowboys lose another one.

Your breasts, dear one, are but just one of your feminine charms, that unleashed with abandon on an unsuspecting man, can knock him to knees. I doubt if there are many men in America who would refuse the opportunity to ahh…fertilize you if you asked them nicely. Come to think of it, the invitation wouldn’t have to be all that nice…the merest suggestion of an invitation would get them up and panting…American men are horny devils who are ever-ready to run the flag up the pole at the slightest opportunity. And that is why our country is so vigorous. Strong sex drives are what keep the populace pulsating…well, so to speak.

Our enormous creativity comes right straight from our collective hypothalami…those centers we all have for primitive characteristics…like our sex drive which fundamentally is responsible for procreative behavior.

So you see, Miss Beautiful, men are simply expressing their kind and generous nature in thoughtfully providing you with a supply of freshly packaged DNA in a manner that, if all goes well, would fill you with child.

And if your breasts are firm and full then a man’s hypothalamus sends out an alert that all masculine parts should immediately report to battle stations for procreation because there is a ripe, fertile female on ‘the loose’ in New York.

Imagine the flurry of ‘masculine parts’ in,say, NYC, if a photograph of your undraped torso were to find itself , magnified many times, on that giant billboard in Times Square.

I mean, the stock market would be abandoned, Madison Square Garden would be empty and our sensitive and gentlemanly public utility workers would blush with embarrassment…in fact no potholes, no sewers, no anything would get fixed…that’s just how badly the men of NY want to assist you in fulfilling your procreative hypothalmic urge…and we would all look forward to your beautiful child…and he/she would be a beautiful child…just look at your ethereal beauty and the rugged Neanderthal-looking city workers.

Some would say that our city workers look impossibly primitive but the women on the staff of the Post and Bugle say they look so masculine…like the gorillas at the zoo or the mayor’s office at NY’s city hall.

So please, Miss Julia, do not, in any way cast even incidental slight at that part of you that turns New York’s sewer workers into helpless pools of melted jelly at the merest idea of the opportunity to assist you in your journey to find suitable DNA. Millions of men ‘stand’ at the ready to heed your call.